


Mycroft's Christmas Carol

by thewallflower07



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, BAMF John Watson, Christmas, Christmas Time, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Major Character Death (But Not Really), Mycroft Feels, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, POV Mycroft Holmes, Poverty, Sick Sherlock, Sickness, Victorian John Watson, Victorian Mycroft Holmes, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, lots of ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-05 17:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16815331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewallflower07/pseuds/thewallflower07
Summary: This is the story of young man, who had lost his way and only filled his heart with money, and that of his complicated family, most importantly, a young, sickly brother and the love of his life. It’s a story of Christmas, of happiness and tragedy, of laughter and tears. Also, many Ghosts.Mycroft's father was dead, to begin with...*will probably be continued next Christmas*





	1. Marley's Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. I gain no profit from it. All credits go to Charles Dicken's beautiful (and scary!) story and Arthur Conan Doyle. 
> 
> I plan to upload a new chapter on every Advent in December. This fanfiction will be finished by Christmas.

Mycroft’s father was dead, to begin with. Granted, he had been Mycroft’s adoptive father, but he was definitely dead, there is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker and the chief mourner. Mycroft signed it too. At a young age, Mycroft’s name was already trustworthy for anything he chose to put his hand to. His father had taught him well and had paid for the best possible education this country can offer.  
  
Still, Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.  
  
Not that door-nails can be alive.  
  
It was 100% certain that Old Marley was dead. Mycroft knew he was dead. How could it be otherwise? After his adoptive mother died, Old Marley introduced him to his business at a very young age, and Mycroft was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and his sole mourner. Old Marley wanted a son, an heir who could continue the family business, and he went to the orphanage to adopt the smartest boy. Mycroft, at the age of 9, was deemed qualified and therefore brought away from the cold, overcrowded orphanage, where there was never enough food, room and clothes for everyone, to the great mansion in the best street of London. Mycroft hardly remembered his first years, and he was determined to keep it that way. With his intellect and hard work, the Marley family had become one of the richest in the country.  
  
Mycroft wasn’t very saddened about his father’s death. Their relationship had been mostly business-related. He had attended the funeral like a good son, and that was it.  
  
Old Marley was definitely dead. There was no doubt about that. He had been dead for nearly two years now.  
Mycroft had never painted out Old Marley’s name. There it stood, two years later, above the warehouse door: Ernest Marley and Mycroft Marley. Mycroft once had a different last name, but he didn’t remember it, or rather, deleted this useless information.  
The firm was known as Ernest Marley and Mycroft Marley. Sometimes people called Mycroft Mycroft and sometimes they called Mycroft Ernest. It didn’t matter to Mycroft, he answered to both.  
  
Mycroft himself was only 23 years old, but many guessed him older, for he behaved like a serious, forty-year old man. He was quite tall and always wore dark suits out of the finest material. His noise was long and his lips thin. His eyes were a dark brown and there was rarely any light in them. No one had ever seen him without one of his black umbrellas, usually hanging over his arm. A young man like him may be inclined to twirl with it constantly, but Mycroft was above such childish nonsense. He wore his brown hair short and always carried himself with an imposing, arrogant and confident manner, and why shouldn’t he? He had brought a considerable amount of wealth over his adoptive family.  
  
This is how a family member or a friend may describe Mycoft, but Old Marley is dead, and Mycroft didn’t have friends. He had a housekeeper and a cook and a clerk in his office, and that’s about all people he can stand to be around with for a limited time.  
The cold within his character had frozen his entire body into a stature, his sunken cheeks, his stiff walk, his red-rimmed eyes and blue lips. He carried his ice-cold temperature always with him, summer and winter, and it did not even melt on Christmas, the day when all of London returned to their families with heavy pockets.  
Nothing in London had the power to crack open his cold armour. No rain or cold wind bothered him, no snow storm, no fresh spring breeze. When he takes one of his daily walks, no one ever enquires about his whereabouts, his health. No one ever invites him on a cup of tea. No one ever asked him for the time, or directions, or help. No beggars ever asked him for a coin. Even dogs make a detour when they noticed him.  
Mycroft was utterly alone, and he very much prefered it that way. He didn’t want anyone to bother him. He looked down on everyone he approached, his hawklike gaze frightening the children. Everyone else were just mice in his eyes, scattered around the city, not worthy his attention, let alone a kind word.  
  
On Christmas Day, for many people the best day of the year, Mycroft sat busy in his counting-house. There was a terrible weather outside, and people hurried along, trying to find solace from the biting wind, rubbing their hands and stomping their feet. Big Ben had announced it was 3 o’clock, but it was far too dark for that, in fact, it hadn’t gone light the whole day. London was in the stranglehold of a brutal winter. The neighbours had lighted candles, and the fog was creeping under the windows and the heavy door. You could barely catch a glimpse of the opposite house.  
The door of Mycroft’s counting-house was open, so he could observe the work of his young clerk at all times. He had hired the boy, barely a man, a few months ago. John Watson may not have a Marley’s intelligence, but he was reliable and worked hard without complaining. John Watson was short, but strong, with blond hair and friendly blue eyes.  
  
He was just 18 years old, but never shrank away from a new possibility. If Mycroft concentrated on him for a few seconds, he could sense the love for someone special in John Watson’s eyes, the gentleness of his one hands and the seething anger and frustration in the other, but Mycroft didn’t usually bother to regard his clerk for more time than it takes to give an order.  
His task today was copying letters, and he had to wear his thickest coat while he worked, since he was not allowed any more coal. Mycroft kept it in a bucket under his own desk. John Watson knew he would get fired if he requested more coal, and so he tried to warm himself with his sole candle.  
  
Mycroft’s door suddenly opened, and Gregory Lestrade, the local police detective from Scotland Yard, stepped in. He and Mycroft had been almost friends when they were younger, and Mycroft liked to pretend that never happened, but Gregory Lestrade was a kind man and always hoped for a rekindling of their friendship.

  
  
“A merry Christmas, Mycroft! God save you!“ he cried and stepped in without permission, nodding at John Watson as he went.

  
Mycroft did not bother looking up from his paper: “Nonsense!“

  
Gregory Lestrade was used to his behaviour and only laughed. The cold air had made his face turn red, and with the light of the small fire he was practically glowing. Gregory Lestrade was a handsome man. He was already greying, but it only made him look wiser, and there was always a smile on his face. Today, in Mycroft’s freezing office, Gregory looked like life itself.

  
“Come on, Mycroft! Christmas is not nonsense! Surely you don’t mean that.“

  
“I do mean that. Merry Christmas! What reason do you have to be merry, Lestrade? You are poor enough!“ Mycroft sneered.

  
“And what reason do you have to be so dismal? You’re rich enough!“ answered Gregory with a big grin on his face.

  
Mycroft, not used that other people answer him so daring, couldn’t come up with a fitting answer and just mumbled “Nonsense!“ again.

  
“Don’t be angry with me, Mycroft!“ said Gregory.

  
“Of course I am angry, there is no reason not to be. I am surrounded by bloody fools! Merry Christmas! There is nothing special about this day, except that you are spending more money that you have, eat too much, drink too much, getting a day older without gaining one! You all should spend the day working hard, sorting through your books, keeping your paperwork in order! If I could decide, I would command that everyone who has a ‚Merry Christmas‘ on their lips should choke on their own wine!“

  
Gregory sighed: “It seems that, like last year, all my effort is in vain. Just allow me to celebrate Christmas like I want to!“

  
“I will, if you let me celebrate it my own way: by not caring about it in the slightest. Maybe one day you will understand, after all, Christmas has never done anything good for you.“ answered Mycroft.

  
“Anything good for me?“ Gregory asked and spread his arms wide, „Christmas gifts me wonderful days with my beautiful wife and our two children. Our house may not be as big as yours, and our tree may not be as decorated as others. We enjoy our turkey nevertheless, and sing Christmas songs together. My older daughter will perform a poem he learned in school, and my youngest will read to us from the bible. They will receive presents of course, and play with them the whole day. My wife will smile at me and I will hold her hand, while we listen to the chiming of the bells of Big Ben. The people of London will enjoy the quiet and the peace, together with their loved ones. There is no greater gift than spending time with my family, and it’s a gift Christmas delivers to my doorstep ever year! Christmas has always been good to me, god bless it.“

  
Gregory finishes his speech, and John Watson started to clap, but immediately noticed his frivolity and hastily busied himself with his paperwork again. Mycroft glared at him: “Another sound from you, and you can start looking for another place of work!“ Then he focused on Gregory Lestrade again.

  
“You should join Parliament, you have a vivid imagination.“

  
“Don’t be insulted, Mycroft! Come to eat with us tomorrow. Molly would love to meet you!“

  
Mycroft only sneered at him, and that was answer enough.

  
“Why did you get married again?“

  
“Because I fell in love!“

  
“Nonsense. There is no such thing as love. It’s the only thing more laughable than Christmas. Good afternoon!“

  
“This is too bad. Why won’t you come visit us?“

  
“Good afternoon!“ repeated Mycroft.

  
“You never give me any reason. You wouldn’t have to do anything, just accompany us!“

  
“Good afternoon!“

  
“I just want us to be friends again.“

  
“Good afternoon!“

  
Gregory slumped, defeated. “I see that my presence is not wanted here. Nevertheless, I will keep my cheery spirit, and wish you a merry Christmas!“

  
“Good afternoon!“

  
Gregory Lestrade left the office with one last wave of his arm, and a last greeting to the clerk, who returned the polite gesture.

  
“He is just the same,“ muttered Mycroft, “15 shillings a week, who knows if he has family, but he will certainly spend a fortune on this ridiculous day. It’s nauseating.“

A few minutes later, the door knocked again, and John Watson, the fool opened it. Two gentlemen were now waiting in Mycroft’s house, their hands full of paper and books.  


  
“Good afternoon, do we have the pleasure of talking with Ernest Marley or Mycroft Marley?“   


  
“I’m Mycroft Marley. Mr Marley has been dead for two years now. In fact, he died on this day, exactly two years ago.“ Mycroft replied.  


  
“We have no doubt the younger Marley will share the same liberality as his father.“ one of the gentleman said. Mycroft and Old Marley had been similar in character, yet Mycroft frowned when he heard the word ‚liberality‘.  


  
“At this festive time of the year, Mr Marley, it is our custom to collect much-needed aid for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at this time of the year, especially with the hard winter we have right now. Many thousands are in need for a roof over their head, coal, warm clothes and food.“ The gentleman takes up his pen.  


  
“Are there no prisons?“ asked Mycroft.  


  
“There are plenty of prisons.“ said the gentleman and puts his pen back down.  


  
“And the union workhouses?“ demanded Mycroft, “Are they still open?“   


  
“They are indeed still open.“ returned the gentleman, “I wish I could say otherwise.“   


  
“The threadmill and the Poor Law is in operation too?“ said Mycroft.  


  
“Both are very busy, Sir.“  
  
  
“Oh! I was worried from what you said at first, that something had happened that made them stop working.“ said Mycroft. “I am very satisfied to learn otherwise.“   


  
“These constitutions offer the bare necessities, but certainly not the Christmas cheer. At times like these when the need is high and people hearts are open, we have chosen to provide the poor with meat and wine. What shall I put you down for?“   


  
“Nothing!“ Mycroft replied.  


  
“You wish to be left anonymous?“   


  
“I wish to be left alone. I don’t care for Christmas myself, and so I don’t care for others people Christmas either. I donate to the workhouses, the prisons and pay my taxes- they take enough, and those who are in need should go to them.“   


  
“But many people can’t go there, and many would rather die.“   


  
“If they would rather die,“ said Mycroft, “they better hurry up with it, and decrease the population. It’s not my business what other people want, I only care for my business alone, and that occupies me enough. Good afternoon, gentlemen.“   


The gentlemen knew clearly that their mission was useless here, and walked out of the office. Mycroft was glad that no one else dared to bother him, and returned to his work, even feeling a bit proud of himself.  


  
Outside their house, the weather only got worse, and the people hurried along, trying to escape the thickening fog. The tower of Big Ben was no longer visible from the window, it had disappeared into the ever darkening afternoon. People warmed their hands over small lamps, and observed the decorated shop windows. Others hurried to the market to buy the last ingredients for their dinner. Someone started to sing a Christmas song right in front of the Mycroft’s door, and others joined in, hoping for a small coin.  


  
_“ God bless you, merry gentlemen!_

_ May nothing you dismay!“ _

__  
  
At the sound of these voices, Mycroft got up and straightened the ruler with such determination that the singers quickly discarded.  
  
Soon it was finally time to close the counting-house, much to Mycroft’s obvious dismay. John Watson happily blew out the candle and stood there hopefully.

  
  
“I expect you want the whole day off tomorrow?“ said Mycroft.  


  
John Watson bowed: “If it’s not enough trouble, Sir.“   


  
“It is a lot of trouble, and it’s not fair. If I give you only half your wage, you would find yourself ill-used, isn’t that right?“   


  
John Watson smiled faintly.  


  
“And yet, you don’t think me ill-used when I pay you for no work“ said Mycroft.  
  
  
“It’s only once a year.“ replied John Watson.  


  
“A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every year on the 25 of December!“ cried Myroft and buttoned up his long, wool coat. “But I suppose you must have the whole  day. Return on the next day earlier than, I expect you to make up for the lost time.“   


  
John Watson promised him to do that, and then disappeared into the night. To where, Mycroft didn’t care. He picked up his hat and closed the door of the counting-house. He took his solitary meal in the same tavern as every day, like his father did, finished the read of the newspaper and retired early to bed with his bankers book. He was now sleeping in the masters room. All the other suites were deserted and only the maid sometimes stepped in to dust the shelves. His bedroom was on the third floor, on the second was the private library and an old piano plus another bedroom, on the first floor there was the dining room and a kitchen.  
No one (else) than Mycroft had lived in the house since both his parents died, and he preferred it that way. After a long day at work, where everyone was determined to annoy him, there was nothing better to finally spend the evening alone.

His bedroom door had a large knocker, and Mycroft say it twice a day, in the mornings and in the evenings. He never noticed anything unusual about it. He hadn’t thought about Old Marley for weeks, save the one mention today. Yet when he was about to enter his chamber, he saw Marley’s face on the knocker- no, the knocker had turned into Old Marley’s face!  
  
The face had a certain glow about it, like a street lamp. It didn’t look furious or hateful, but rather how he always used to look at Mycroft. His grey hair, the round spectacles, observing eyes and without a smile on his face. Everything about him was completely motionless, except for a few strands of his hair. All of this looked terrifying, but when Mycroft looked again, it had turned back into the knocker.  
He was startled and his heart was racing, but you wouldn’t notice it just by observing him. Mycroft walked into the room and lightened his candle. He carefully checked the door again, yet everything was normal.  
  
“Nonsense.“ Mycroft told himself and shut the door with a bang. The sound resonated through the whole house. There was barely any light in the house, only Mycroft’s candle. He liked the darkness, it was cheaper. The young Marley resolutely checked every surface, under the bed, in the closet, on the table. There was nobody in the house except him. Mycroft locked the door twice, to calm himself and to keep out any more surprises, put on his red dressing gown and made himself comfortable in front of the fireplace with a glass of expensive whiskey.  
  
While staring at the burning coal, he could have sworn that he saw glimpses again of Old Marley’s face, so vivid as if he was staring directly at him.  
  
“Nonsense.“ said Mycroft again and emptied his glass. He paced a few times around the room to clear his head and then sat down again.  
Suddenly, the bell over his head began to ring. The bell was once used as a means of communication, but that was long forgotten. Still, the bell rang, and it rang for more than a minute, althought it seemed to take hours. Mycroft looked at it without blinking, feeling mesmerized.  
The bell stopped running and it was replaced by the sound of a clanking noise, as if a person was dragging heavy chains behind them. Mycroft remembered that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.  
The cellar door flew open with a loud bang and Mycroft flinched involuntarily. The chain noise was now much louder, as if it was wandering up the stairs.

  
“Get yourself together.“ he told himself, “Don’t believe such stupid nonsense!“

  
His determination changed when the sound came through the heavy door and into the dark chamber. It was Old Marley. His grey hair was bound in a thin ponytail, he wore tights and boots and the white dressing gown he died in. Thick bandages were wrapped around his head and chest. The chain he carried was wound around his waist and Mycroft observed many cash boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers and heavy purses hanging on it. The body was transparent, and Mycroft could see the door through him.  
Mycroft didn’t know what to believe. He let his eyes wander over the body standing before him time and time again, but Marley didn’t disappear nor did he change. His dead eyes stayed, as did the cold wavering from his body. This defied all scientific logic. Surely his dead father couldn’t really be there?

  
“How now!“ said Mycroft in his detached and cold voice, “What do you want with me?“

  
“Much.“ answered Marley, and it was indeed Old Marley’s voice.

  
“Who are you?“ asked Mycroft, still not wanting to believe it.

  
“Ask me who I was.“

  
“Who were you then?“ said Mycroft in a loud voice.

  
“In life I was your father, Ernest Marley. The man who took you in and raised you.“

  
“Can you- can you sit down?“ asked Mycroft, looking doubtful.

  
“I can.“

  
“Please do it then.“

  
Mycroft had asked because he didn’t know if a transparent ghost - it must be a ghost — was able to sit down in a chair. But the ghost sat down on the chair opposite to him, the one where Old Marley and his wife always used to sit.

  
“You don’t believe in me.“ said the ghost.

  
“No, I don’t. Ghost do not exist.“

  
“What evidence would you have of my existence beyond what your own senses say?“

  
“I don’t know.“

  
“Why do you doubt your own eyes and ears?“

  
“Because a little thing affects them. I must have eaten something wrong in the tavern, something that upset my stomach. Or I drank too much whiskey and am now hallucinating. Or I worked to hard and you are a symptom of my stress. These are all perfectly possible explanations.“  
Mycroft tried to sound as put-down together as possible. After all, the citizens of London referred to him as the smartest inhabitant of the city. He had a reputation to obhold.

The truth is, he was absolutely terrified, and tried not to show it.  
  
The man and the ghost stared at each other for a moment. Old Marley sat completely motionless, and Mycroft wished to divert the attention of his gaze to something else.

  
“This is all nonsense! Tomorrow morning I will wake up and remember none of this!“

  
At this, the spirit startled him with a loud scream and started making horrible noises with his chain. Mycroft pressed himself closer into the chair, terrified for his life. But his terror grew when the ghost took of his bandages around his head and his lower jaw dropped down onto his lap!  
  
Mycroft dropped down on his knees and folded his trembling hands together.

  
“Have mercy, father!“ he said. “Dreadful ghost, why do you trouble me after your death?“

  
“Do you believe in me or not!“ roared Old Marley.

  
“I do, I must. But why do you wander the earth, and why did you come to me?“

  
“It is required of every man who has not done good in his life.“ said Old Marley, “That the spirit shall wander the earth after death, and witness what it never had, and see happiness it never enjoyed.“

  
The ghost let out another cry and jangled with his chains.

  
“You are cursed.“ said Mycroft. “Tell me why?“

  
“I wear the chains I forged in my life.“ replied the ghost. “I made it link by link, chain by chain. I worked on it all my life, and so did you. Your chain is much longer now than it was two years ago!“

  
Mycroft trembled: “Oh father, please. Tell me more, comfort me!“

  
“I have no comfort to give. I cannot stay here much longer, every second is torture. I can never rest and I can not stay anywhere. I have spent most of my life in the counting-house, and this is where I’m doomed to stay forever! This money-changing, empty hole. Oh, Mycroft, how much time did I waste. It took me two years to take the journey from the office to our house.“

  
“You must have walked very slow, then. Two years dead, and travelling all the time.“

  
“I was walking the whole time. No sleep, no kind word, only pain. I am a captive of my own misery, in life and beyond. I missed so many opportunities, and now there is only regret.“

  
“But father, think of your business! You built it all up yourself, and it’s still running successful!“ said Mycroft, hoping to apply that to himself too.

  
“The business! There I was, working for hours, when I should have spent these hours with you, and your mother! My family should have been my business, the city, the country, all those poor souls on the street! But all I could see was my own fortune.“

  
He threw his chains around again.

  
“Now it’s Christmas time again, and I must walk among all the celebrating people, regretting every Christmas I spend at the office and not with you. Why did I not follow the lights to a poor house and help the suffering?“

  
Mycroft was getting more disturbed with every word.

  
“Listen to me!“ shouted Old Marley. “My time is nearly up."

  
“I will listen.“ cried Mycroft. “Don’t be too hard on me, father.“

  
“I will pay my penance until the end of days, but there is still hope for you, Mycroft. I am here to warn you."

  
“You were always a good father to me.“ said Mycroft.

  
“You will be visited by three ghosts.“

  
This was not the relief Mycroft had hoped for.

  
“Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, father?“

  
“It is. Without these three gods, you have no chance at all to change your cursed path. Expect the first tomorrow, at one, the second one the day after at two o’clock later, and the third one the day after at three o’clock.“

  
“Can’t they visit me all at once? I would rather get it over quickly.“

  
“They will visit at that specific time. You will never see me again, and for your own sake, remember what happened here today and what I told you!“

  
The ghost wrapped the bandages around his head and picked up his lower jaw. He walked over to the window, and with every step, it opened further, so he could at last slip through. He cast one last look to Mycroft, who was now standing in the middle of the room, still shocked at the events of the day. Old Marley waved his son closer, and Mycroft obliged.  
Old Marley disappeared into the night, and suddenly there were loud screams everywhere. Mycroft couldn’t help but glance out of the window, and what he saw nearly frightened him to death.  
Hundreds, maybe thousands of ghosts, like Old Marley, were flying through the sky over London, dangling with heavy chains, wide-opened eyes. Mycroft even thought he recognized some of them, one old man looked a politician who visited them one time. Old Marley joined them and let the wind blew him away. All of them were together in their misery, and being unable to change a thing about their fate.  
  
Mycroft double-checked his door. The knocker had turned into a normal knocker again. He tried to pretend for a second that it was all a bad dream, but his father’s words still rang in his head. There was nothing he could do now, and he felt unbearably tired. He stumbled with weak knees to his bed and immediately fell asleep.


	2. The first of the three ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghost of Christmas Past visits Mycroft. Together they travel through Mycroft childhood and discover a long forgotten secret.

It was dark when Mycroft opened his eyes again. He felt a bit more rested now. Everything in his bedchamber looked normal as well. The bells of Big Ben were ringing again, and Mycroft strained his ears to listen to them.  
To his indefinite surprise, the clock went on from six to seven, from eight to nine, until he counted 12, then stopped.

  
“Did I really sleep through an entire day?“ said Mycroft to himself. “This can’t be possible. The clock must be wrong.“

  
There were no more ghosts in the sky, only the heavy fog. He went back to bed, satisfied. Mycroft had always been a man of science. The mere thought of ghosts made him question his own sanity. And yet Old Marley, his dead father, had appeared to him just hours ago, with jangling chains and a mysterious message.

  
“It must have been a dream.“ he reassured himself. “What else can it be?“

  
He stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, when he remembered the message of Marley’s ghost. Three other ghosts would meet him and show him his apparent wrongdoings. Mycroft nearly dozed off a few times, but was completely awake when he heard the first sound of the clock.

  
“Ding dong.“

  
“A quarter past.“ said Mycroft, counting.

  
“Ding Dong.“

  
“Half past!“

  
“Ding Dong.“

  
“A quarter to it!“ said Mycroft.

  
“Ding Dong.“

  
“The hour itself,“ said Mycroft, triumphantly, “and nothing else!“

  
He spoke too early. The clock gave one last deep, dull, hollow, melancholy sound. ONE. At once all the candles came to life in the room, and the curtains were thrown open.

  
The curtains were thrown upon by a hand, a human’s hand. The creature was now looming over a shocked Mycroft, who didn’t quite know how to describe it.  
The creature was neither young nor old. His long hair was white like an old man, but his hands were free of wrinkles. He had muscular arms, but his feet were so delicately formed like a child.  
The ghost wore a long white tunic, fastened with a beautiful thin belt. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand, and his dress was trimmed with summer flowers. Like Marley, he radiated his own light, but his was much more golden, even his belt glimmered.  
This light was not the strangest thing about the ghost. When Mycroft looked closer, the ghost was constantly changing his presence. Once it had twenty arms, then three legs, then he was very tall, then he was very small. No outline of his body was ever clearly visible.

  
“Are you the Ghost, sir, whose coming I was told by my father?“ he asked.

  
“I am.“ The Ghost’s voice was gentle, and that calmed down Mycroft’s nerves. The voice was low, but it could be heard from a great distance.

  
“Who, and what are you?“ Mycroft demanded.

  
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.“

“Long past?“ inquired Mycroft.

  
“No, your past. And the past of someone else, someone very close to you.“

  
“You mean the past of my father, Ernest Marley?“

  
The Ghost shook his head: “There is someone else.“

  
Mycroft raked his head, but there really was no one else. His adoptive mother had never shown much interest in him and died when he was young, and he had no friends.

  
“What business has brought you here?“

  
“Your welfare!“ stated the Ghost plainly.

  
“That’s very kind of you, but I believe a good nights rest would help me much better than any Ghost ever could!“

  
“It will be my duty to prove you wrong.“ The Ghost said and clasped his hand gently around Mycroft’s arm.

  
“Rise and walk with me.“

  
“I am only in my nightgown and slippers!“ protested Mycroft. “It’s freezing cold outside!“

  
“As long as you’re with me, no weather can hurt you.“

  
They flew quickly over the roofs of London and the river. Where there was fog, there was now a clear night, with snow laying on the ground. The two landed on the outskirts of London, in front of a large house that was desperately in need of repair.

  
“Where are we?“ asked Mycroft.

  
“Do you not remember this place? It’s the orphanage, where they delivered you after your parents died.“

  
The two stepped in, and Mycroft noticed that they were somehow invisible to everyone else. The ground was dirty and most of the furniture was broken. There were next to no toys, only some children were huddled together in the corner. They climbed uneven stairs to the first floor and approached a single door.

  
“Now I remember it!“ cried Mycroft. “This is the day I got adopted!“

  
The Ghost nodded in conformation.

  
“But I don’t know how this is supposed to help me.“

  
The Ghost only opened the door. Inside the room there was a table, where the head of the orphanage sat. Ernest Marley and his wife, Margaret Marley, were sitting opposite to him. All of them were regarding a young boy with brown hair, almost nine years old. Mycroft looked at his younger person with interest.

  
“The two Holmes brothers have arrived to our house a few weeks ago, after their parents both died of a terrible illness.“

  
“Brothers?“ asked Mycroft, when suddenly a very small child, maybe only 2 years old, stepped around the younger Mycroft’s legs. He was small for his age, possibly unhealthy so. His curls hang limply around his head, he was very pall and shaking. Most worringly, he held himself weirdly, as if his right leg couldn’t carry his body weight.

  
“Our Mycroft here has made himself a good reputation. He is very obedient and most importantly, intelligent and quick thinking. Exactly what you are looking for, Mr Marley.“

  
“What about the younger Holmes boy?“ asked Ernest Marley.

  
“Mycroft Holmes does have a better ring to it than Mycroft Marley.“ said Mycroft and laughed, amused.

  
The man coughed awkwardly: “Unfortunately, his body is weak, he must be suffering from an illness. We don’t what it is.“

  
“Ernest,“ reminded him Margaret, “we did decide on only taking one child.“

  
“That is correct, Margaret.“

  
“Don’t give up too fast on our Sherlock here! He is a sweet child, and will surely bring happiness into your house.“ The man spoke hastily, obviously hoping to get rid of both brothers.

  
While he listened to the adults talk, the now older Mycroft could not longer hide his surprise in front of the Ghost.

  
“I have a brother, a younger brother called Sherlock! Oh, my mind must be playing tricks on me, how could I forgot about him?“

  
The Ghost shrugged: “You deleted all your memories of him. You were no longer interested in Sherlock’s fate."

  
Mycroft stared at him in horror, while his father spoke again.

„If the little one survives, maybe. But I am looking for a heir, and if Mycroft is the better candidate, I will only take him.“ answered Ernest and stood up. He beckoned the boy closer.

„Come with us now, child. You will have a new home.“

The boy stepped closer, but Sherlock suddenly started wailing and clinged to his older brother’s legs like he was the only lifesaver left in his dark world.

„Myc! Mcy, please! Don’t leave!“

„It is decided.“ said Earnest and wrote his signature on a paper that the man handed to him. „Margaret, Mycroft, let’s leave this horrible place.“

„NO, MCY PLEASE- .“ screamed Sherlock.

His brother freed his legs with a determined step into the direction of his new parents. Sherlock’s little body fell to the ground, curling into himself.

„Don’t cry, Sherlock. Parents hate it when you do. I am sure someone will come pick you up soon too.“

The now grown-up Mycroft could only watch while his younger persona left Sherlock alone without a single kind word. The door closed after the new family left.

„Pick him up and get him back to the others!“ snarled the fed-up man at a waiting nurse.

Mycroft turned to the waiting Ghost.

„It is unfair that you have shown me this! I was only a child too, and it was either this or me staying at the orphanage too! What was I supposed to do?“

„I am not here to give you answers. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past, and that’s exactly what I will show you.“ answered the Ghost.

„What happened to Sherlock?“

„I will show you.“

Sherlock’s screams were still running through his head while they flew through time again, and landed back into the orphanage. They were now in another room, just as dirty and cold as the ones before. A few children were playing with broken soldier figures on a brown carpet. Mycroft searched for Sherlock and found him huddled in a corner. He had not grown much and was now wearing an iron brace around his right leg. His face was hidden behind a blanket. His health must not have improved then, thought Mycroft. He would have been of no use to father.  
His own opinion shocked him. Had he become so cold?

„This is exactly one year after you were adopted by the Marleys.“ The Ghost explained. „Sherlock has not improved much, and the other children avoid him. He is quite smart, but the orphans receive next to no education. They will learn how to read, write and do some math, and that’s about it.“

A stressed nurse came in, dragging a young boy of maybe 7 years behind her. The boy was short and had blond hair and kind blue eyes.

„Children, we have a new guest in our house! This is John, and I want you all to welcome him!“

Most of the children mumbled a quick greeting and returned back to their game. The nurse left John alone, and the boy wandered through the room, stopping on different groups of children, but never stayed. Finally he approached Sherlock’s corner. He observed the hidden boy with big eyes, then kneeled down next to him.

„Hey, I’m John.“ The boy said and stretched out his hand to shake, but Sherlock refused to move. John was not disappointed though.

„I’m new here. The nurse said this is a kind place for children like me, but I’m not so sure of that.“

The blanket moved a bit, but Sherlock didn’t appear. Mycroft watched as John carried one, seemingly not bothered. He was amazed at the patience the blond boy exercised. The blond boy blabbered on, filling the cold air with words. Mycroft watched them get up, eat a few pieces of bread and a glass of milk, and finally how they were sent to bed. Two or three children had to sleep on one mattress with only one blanket, and John choose the place next to Sherlock.

„Don’t bother with the Freak.“ shouted an older boy. „He never talks and sometimes he coughs through the whole night.“

„He is not a freak!“ argued John back, sounding determined. „And my father was a doctor, he taught me a lot! I can help him sleep.“

„Your father couldn’t have been that good, otherwise you wouldn’t be here!“

John raised his fist: „Shut up, or I’ll make you!“

„You have a fool mouth for someone who is as low to the dirt as we all are.“

„I’m still better than you.“

The older boy snorted: „Whatever. Just make sure he stops coughing, or we’ll make him stop.“

John crawled under the blanket next to Sherlock. The young Holmes was laying with his back to him, his face covered by his arms. They light soon went out and the room full of children was drenched in darkness.  
Sherlock did end up coughing a lot during the night, and finally John took him by the hand and rolled him on his back. For a second Sherlock stiffened with fear, but John rubbed his arm. „It’s okay,“ he whispered, „now you can breath better, right?“ Sherlock quickly nodded.

„Thank you.“ He whispered, and John beamed at hearing his voice.

„I’m new here, and I don’t like the other boys. Do you want to be my friend?“ John asked, with an innocence only children could possess.

„I want to be your friend. You aren’t mean, like the others.“

With that talk, it was settled, and the children soon fell asleep, each safe in the other’s arms.

„What happened to John’s parents?“ asked Mycroft.

„His father was a soldier, and he died in the war. His older sister disappeared into the night, and his mother drowned herself in her grief.“

„Good John Watson! Caring for my brother so selflessly, when all I did was spectacularly failing him!“ cried Mycroft. He sat down on the stairs and couldn’t supress his falling tears anymore.

„Oh, Sherlock. My dear sweet brother, I remember you now! I taught you how to walk, and we played in the garden together!“

He sobbed: „I was only a child, and I should have stayed with him or insist he come with us, but I left. I saw the first opportunity and I left. And I never came back. That’s why I should blame myself. I never came back for Sherlock.“

The Ghost sat down next to him: „You were extremely lucky to be adopted by the Marley’s. Sherlock didn’t receive that fortune, not with his illness and not on that day. He received another fortune though. John Watson came for him, like an angel, and he never left again.“

The Ghost and Mycroft flew again through time, and Mycroft observed every glimpse of his lost younger brother as time passed. John was always right next to him, growing into a strong boy despite the lack of nutritional food. Sherlock grew too, but he always stayed dangerously skinny. Mycroft watched him limp to the few classes they had the chance to attend, the bedroom and the kitchen. The surrounding orphanage only turned more mouldy, with more leaks every Christmas, with damp blankets, soggy bread and too thin clothing. There was an ever-changing number of nurses with wrinkled hands, ragged faces who seldom offered a word of comfort. During all these Christmas, Sherlock and John carried their own light within them, bonded in their deep friendship.  
  
The Ghost of Christmas Past finally landed again and their surroundings were getting more clear. They were still in the orphanage, which now had more holes than roof.  
  
The children in the orphanage were kept busy with trying to mob the wet floor, while a few nurses were parading around them. His little brother was wearing a dark coat, that was way too long for him, and trousers with holes over his knees. Sherlock was trying his best, but his thin arms were not fast enough in their washing movements. He had managed to fill a bucket with water and stood up to bring it out into the white storm outside. Maybe the brace around his leg had been too short or it was stolen, because his weak right leg was now entirely unsupported. He slipped on the floor, his right leg gave out under him, and he fell down hard. The bucket partly drenched him, the rest landed on the floor.  
One of the nurses was immediately upon him, pointing angrily at the dripping mess: “Look at what you have done!“, she screeched, then raised her cane and hit Sherlock twice.

  
“I am sorry, Miss.“ Sherlock gasped and tried to shield his head from her blows.

  
“It was just a mistake, I will clean it up.“ someone hurriedly said.

  
Mycroft turned to the new voice and gasped. Now he finally recognizes the young boy! It was no one other than John Watson, his clerk! He was one of the oldest children in the room, maybe 14 years old, and held himself proud and confident. He stepped around the nurse, shielding the younger boy from her view, and pulled Sherlock gently to his feet. The younger boy stood shakily next to him.

  
“See that you do, Watson! I won’t allow any difficulties from you two anymore!“ The nurse cried and went to bother someone else.

  
“I can’t believe it, what a coincidence. My clerk, the friend of my brother.“ said Mycroft. “I didn’t know Watson grew up in an orphanage.“

  
The Ghost shrugged: “You never asked.“

  
“Tell me, Ghost. Did anyone ever came to adopt either Sherlock or John?“

  
“No one ever came for Sherlock. He had a bad reputation with the nurses and the head of the orphanage. They called him a ‚troubled child‘ and no one wanted to bother with a constantly sick child. A few months after John arrived, a rich couple visited. They loved his blond hair and blue eyes, and they wanted him as a son, but John made such a mess at their home that they soon sent him back.“

  
“Why would he do that?“ asked Mycroft. “This was his one change to get out. He could have become a doctor, like his father did!“

  
“He didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone, so deep was their connection already.“

  
“You cannot possible fault me for not doing the same!“

  
“I’m just saying that John made a different choice than you did, that’s all. You cannot change your past anyway.“

  
“Where are they now?“

  
“That’s a story for the Ghost of Christmas Present to tell.“

  
Mycroft allowed himself one last look at his younger brother and John Watson, who were now moping up the floor together. John must have mentioned something funny, because Sherlock was softly giggling.

  
“Can we move on now?“ Mycroft pleaded. His heart was broken.

  
“We shall.“ said the Ghost and took his arm again.

  
This time they travelled away from the stinking chimneys of London, into the far countryside.

  
The snow was laying deep on the ground, but two boys didn’t care. They were dressed in thick coats and boots. Mycroft recognized his younger self immediately. The boy had grown a bit, looking now about twelve years old.

  
“That’s me!“ He pointed at the red-headed boy. “And that’s Gregory!“ Mycroft laughed as he watched Gregory throw a thick snowball at his younger persona, who tried to doge it, but failed. Their fight ended with Mycroft pulling Gregory’s face into the snow, both of them breathless with giggles.

  
“You two were good friends once.“ The Ghost said.

  
“We were best friends.“ After seeing John Watson and Sherlock interact, Mycroft had to admit there were similarities. “Our friendship was not dangered by evil nurses, and we always had enough coal in our fireplace, and enough food in our stomach.“ Mycroft swallowed. His stomach had turned to stone. “We were so much luckier, having all possible doors open, and a brightful future ahead! No wonder, with rich parents.“

  
“Let’s go one year ahead. Don’t worry, we’ll stay in the region.“

  
They flew again through time.

  
“This is my school!“ shouted Mycroft. He would have recognized those halls anytime. “It’s our annual Winter’s ball! I now recall again how much we loved them!“

  
Indeed, dozens of male students were dancing around the room, wearing fancy dark suits and ties. A few others are watching them, while drinking champagne. Mycroft spied his younger persona dancing with a young woman.

  
“Oh, that’s Irene Adler, the oldest daughter of the French ambassador! She was a delightful girl.“ explained Mycroft. “I have completely forgotten that I danced with her!“

  
The two had finished their song and bowed. Irene soon had another willing dancer on her arm, and Mycroft went to the piano. He had a quick talk with the musician, then they switched. Mycroft started playing a slow Christmas song, and everyone adjusted their dancing to follow the musics.  
The giant Christmas tree was glinting and the room was filled with laughter. Mycroft caught himself humming to the music.

  
“It’s absolutely beautiful.“ He says to himself.

  
“You seem to have enjoyed yourself very much.“ The Ghost deduces.

  
“I love dancing. I always loved it.“ Mycroft admits. Then, a new memory comes into his mind: “I taught Sherlock how to walk, and sometimes I placed him on my feet, and we danced slowly around our flat. Mother always berated me to be careful with him.“ He sighed.

  
“We have to hurry up a bit. I still have to show you something, and my time is getting short.“ The Ghost explains and takes his hand again.

  
The two land in his old room, and Mycroft saw his younger persona sitting on his desk, reading a letter.

  
“I remember this Christmas! Father and Mother sent me a package. This is the year when I got my watch.“ Mycroft said. “I was 19 then- my last months at school! I lived in a single room.“

  
The two heard the other pupils singing down the hall.

  
The 19 years old Mycroft groaned at the noises, walked through the room and threw open the door.

  
“Be quiet! Some people want to use their time to study!“ he bellowed the corridor.

  
“Cheer up, Marley, it’s Christmas Day. We are only celebrating!“

  
“Yeah, like normal people do! Christmas, ever heard of it?“

  
Mycroft sneered: “I have a lot of pressure on my back, soon I will join my father’s business and make more money than you all together.“

  
“Sure, Marley!“ The other boys disappeared, only one figure came closer and stopped at Mycroft’s door. It was Gregory Lestrade, the man who invited Mycroft to his family Christmas dinner.

  
“Did you receive presents from your parents?“ Gregory asked. The older Mycroft noticed immediately how different their connection was then, compared too now. Gregory had met his parents twice and obviously knew them from stories. The younger brother welcomed him into his private room without a second thought, and Gregory seemed at ease in it.

  
“My father gifted me a gorgeous pocket watch!“ Mycroft said. Gregory had a look at it and praised it sufficiently.

  
“I’m sure it will be helpful later at your job.“ Lestrade said. “I finally send off my letter to Scotland Yard yesterday — I hope they will let me join the force.“

  
“They would be stupid if they didn’t.“ Mycroft reassured him, “You are good at reading people.“

  
Gregory laughed: “Not as good as you are.“

  
“I am, but I don’t take much interest in what I learn. Most other people are barely scraping my vision. My passions lie elsewhere.“

  
“Money. You are only interested in money.“ Gregory said, suddenly serious.

  
Mycroft nodded: “I want the business to be successful. Father will be proud of me.“

  
Gregory sat down on his bed, and beckoned Mycroft next to him.

  
“The reason why I want to talk with you today… The truth is, I’m worried about.“

  
Mycroft frowned: “Why should you be worried about me?“

  
“You have changed, and not necessarily for the better.“ Gregory sighed. “You have grown more distant, you barely talk to anyone anymore, you seldom acknowledge me. All you care about is the work and the profit, and that’s no way to live.“

  
“Why are you telling me this?“ asked Mycroft. The older Mycroft sensed the anger brooding in his teenager self.

  
“I am your friend, Myc.“

  
Mycroft jumped up from the bed: “I don’t have friends! And I don’t need you or anyone else to berate me over my choices.“

  
“I am only trying to help.“ said Gregory, shoulders slumping.

  
“I don’t want your help, I don’t need your help!“

  
Gregory prepared himself to leave: “One day you will see how terrible lonely your life is, and then you will come to me. Don’t worry, I will be waiting.“

  
“Believe whatever you want, I don’t care. Now get out!“

  
The Ghost observed Mycroft watching the scene.

  
“This was the last time we spoke to each other. He only appeared recently again after my father died.“ explained Mycroft. “He has always been a good friend to me, far better than I deserved. Gregory has a big heart.“

  
He looked at the Ghost: “Please, show me no more, I can’t take it!“

  
“One more scene.“ exclaimed the Ghost

  
“No more! I don’t wish to see anything else!"

  
The Ghost picked him up and forced him to witness another scene.

  
Gregory Lestrade was sitting in front of a small fireplace. He looked a few years older now, and his hair has started greying. Two little girls were sitting next to his resting feet, playing with a doll and giggling happily together. The air was filled with the delicious smell of biscuits, and soon a young woman with light brown was walking in, carrying a full plate with treats.

  
“It’s a quarter to 6. Our guests will arrive soon.“ she said. Gregory took her by the hand and led her to the chair next to his.

  
“Merry Christmas, my love.“ he whispered and kissed her hand. She smiled. They listened together to the delightful sound of their daughters.

  
“Mycroft didn’t want to come?“ Gregory’s wife asked. He shook his head. “Unfortunately not, he claimed the counting-office is too busy and Old Marley needs his assistance.“

  
The wife pressed his hand reassuringly: “Don’t blame yourself darling. You tried to do everything you could.“

  
“Yeah…“ said Gregory quietly.

  
The door rang and the two girls jumped up and ran to the door, screaming “Grandma!“

  
“Ghost, remove me from this place.“ pleaded Mycroft.

  
“I told you before that these are scenes from your past. You cannot blame me for what you see!“

  
“Remove me!“ begged Mycroft. He, who had never begged once in his life! “I cannot bear it no longer!“

  
Mycroft catches one last look at Gregory and his wife, who share a brief kiss. The Ghost takes him by the arm again and guides him out, back into the street. The dark night is now more stiffening, after spending so much time in light rooms, filled with laughter, food and celebrating friends.

  
“Stop haunting me, leave me alone!“ said Mycroft. He pushed against the Ghost, but of course, it didn’t budge. Finally, it lays a hand on Mycrofts forehead, and soon he finds himself back in his comfortable and warm bed. The Ghost was gone, and before Mycroft could form another clear thought, he drifted off into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have noticed that the first chapter has gained next to no attention, and I'm not sure what I did wrong. If you enjoyed reading, please give kudos or write a comment!

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate every kudos and every comment.


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